LA ALPUJARRA
La Alpujarra is the name given to the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada mountains in Spain. With the highest peak (Mulhacen) at just under 3,500 metres, and the coast not very far away, the whole area slopes sharply downhill. The white-washed villages have to cling to the hillsides, and there are a number of spa towns around. Lanjaron, the gateway to the area, is the name of a well-known brand of bottled water, that is made from the snowmelt off the mountains.
We visited Pampaneira and Capileira, two villages in the Poqueira valley. The road up to the latter at 1,440 metres is brand-new, but it is still a fairly hairy drive through the hairpin bends. Many of the inhabitants live by making leatherware and pottery, so it is a good place for idle browsing. It was hot, hot, hot when we were there, so we didn't have the energy for much more.
Capileira is the jump-off place for people wishing to climb Mulhacen. You could easily see the top against a clear-blue sky, and there was still a lot of snow on the peak, despite its being mid-July. I love my annual walking tour in the Lake District. But I also fancy a couple of days' walking in the Sierra Nevada, relaxing afterwards with sangria and paella instead of Black Sheep bitter and roast lamb.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 29 July 2010
Wednesday 28 July 2010
LEAVING HOME
My elder son, who is 20, is leaving home. He is moving to Copenhagen, and starting at the Business School there in August.
Today my wife and I helped him move all his things. We filled a trailer, and drove over the bridge to the big city. He has a room in a fifth floor apartment quite close to the centre, which he "inherited" from his cousin, who used to live there. We lugged everything up five flights of stairs, and met his landlord (a very nice teacher), who gave him his set of keys. Then we went off to Ikea, bought him a bed, bed linen, pillow and clothes horse; and then made everything cosy for him to move in. He won't formally move until mid-August, so he came back to Fünen with us. But the die is cast.
He has been away from home before, not least to spend four months doing national service during the spring. But this time it is different. His course will be for five years, and he will be living in the middle of a capital city, with his own place and with all of its myriad attractions. From now on, it is more likely that we will visit him than the other way round.
It is an exciting time, and I can feel that excitement on his behalf. Since that will be good for him, it can only be good for me. But there was a tinge of sadness as well; an era is ending.
Walter Blotscher
My elder son, who is 20, is leaving home. He is moving to Copenhagen, and starting at the Business School there in August.
Today my wife and I helped him move all his things. We filled a trailer, and drove over the bridge to the big city. He has a room in a fifth floor apartment quite close to the centre, which he "inherited" from his cousin, who used to live there. We lugged everything up five flights of stairs, and met his landlord (a very nice teacher), who gave him his set of keys. Then we went off to Ikea, bought him a bed, bed linen, pillow and clothes horse; and then made everything cosy for him to move in. He won't formally move until mid-August, so he came back to Fünen with us. But the die is cast.
He has been away from home before, not least to spend four months doing national service during the spring. But this time it is different. His course will be for five years, and he will be living in the middle of a capital city, with his own place and with all of its myriad attractions. From now on, it is more likely that we will visit him than the other way round.
It is an exciting time, and I can feel that excitement on his behalf. Since that will be good for him, it can only be good for me. But there was a tinge of sadness as well; an era is ending.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 27 July 2010
DANDELIONS
I hate dandelions. This is not a love-hate relationship combined with a bit of mutual respect, a la mole, this is a pure, unadulterated, unmitigated, one-way, vitriolic hatred. They are ugly little buggers to start with. And then they have this humungously large root that burrows down into the soil. If you try and pull them out by the leaves, the root usually snaps, which means that the wretched thing is ready to start growing again next year.
My mother-in-law is the only person I know who both lives in a rural area (and so is prone to invasion by flying dandelion seeds), and yet has almost no dandelions on her immaculately tended lawn. When I asked her how she did it, she told me that it was a combination of eternal vigil, and the use of an ingenious little tool, that manages to pull the dandelions out, roots and all. Said tool promptly went to the top of my birthday wish list, and duly arrived in wrapping paper on 5 July this year.
It looks a bit like a walking stick with a piano pedal attached to the foot. At the bottom of the stick are four claws, which are open, and which you stick into the grass around the head of the forthcoming dandelion victim. When you then press down on the pedal with your foot, the claws (which are serrated) close together and grip the weed's root. You then lever the claws out of the ground, hopefully trailing a long root behind them.
It was a sunny day today, so time for some serious dandelion genocide. During the space of a couple of hours, I managed to fill the wheelbarrow twice. I know that this is definitely a long-term project, but I have made a good start. And my mother-in-law will be pleased.
Walter Blotscher
I hate dandelions. This is not a love-hate relationship combined with a bit of mutual respect, a la mole, this is a pure, unadulterated, unmitigated, one-way, vitriolic hatred. They are ugly little buggers to start with. And then they have this humungously large root that burrows down into the soil. If you try and pull them out by the leaves, the root usually snaps, which means that the wretched thing is ready to start growing again next year.
My mother-in-law is the only person I know who both lives in a rural area (and so is prone to invasion by flying dandelion seeds), and yet has almost no dandelions on her immaculately tended lawn. When I asked her how she did it, she told me that it was a combination of eternal vigil, and the use of an ingenious little tool, that manages to pull the dandelions out, roots and all. Said tool promptly went to the top of my birthday wish list, and duly arrived in wrapping paper on 5 July this year.
It looks a bit like a walking stick with a piano pedal attached to the foot. At the bottom of the stick are four claws, which are open, and which you stick into the grass around the head of the forthcoming dandelion victim. When you then press down on the pedal with your foot, the claws (which are serrated) close together and grip the weed's root. You then lever the claws out of the ground, hopefully trailing a long root behind them.
It was a sunny day today, so time for some serious dandelion genocide. During the space of a couple of hours, I managed to fill the wheelbarrow twice. I know that this is definitely a long-term project, but I have made a good start. And my mother-in-law will be pleased.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 26 July 2010
BLOGOSSARY
One of the interesting side-effects of blogging has been the exposure to new (and newly invented) vocabulary. Like the word blog itself, which is short for web log. Or the blogosphere, the cyberworld, which bloggers like me inhabit.
Other words I have recently learned include vlog, a video blog; blong, a short song written in a sort of blog format; and bleg, to beg or ask for assistance via a blog.
You can find an expanded list on the website www.blogossary.com. Where else?
Walter Blotscher
One of the interesting side-effects of blogging has been the exposure to new (and newly invented) vocabulary. Like the word blog itself, which is short for web log. Or the blogosphere, the cyberworld, which bloggers like me inhabit.
Other words I have recently learned include vlog, a video blog; blong, a short song written in a sort of blog format; and bleg, to beg or ask for assistance via a blog.
You can find an expanded list on the website www.blogossary.com. Where else?
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 25 July 2010
WEST JUTLAND
I have spent the last couple of days at my wife's family's annual gathering (again no internet connection, hence no blog). Everybody was there this year, all 23 of us, accomodated in a large summer house in West Jutland.
Jutland is the part of Denmark that sticks up from Germany. Traditionally, it is the poor part of the country. The land is flat, particularly on the western side, and the soil is sandy, which makes agriculture difficult. In olden times it was mainly heath and pine forests. Standing on the current border between Germany and Denmark and looking at the pancake-flat, dyke-ridden landscape, it is hard to see why the Schleswig-Holstein question exercised so many minds for so long. To be blunt, who would want it?
Danish ingenuity has since solved the agricultural problem, so nowadays there are large fields of wheat and maize, herds of dairy cattle, and many of the country's large pig farms (see Gylle, 1/5/10). But ingenuity can't make the landscape any hillier. The roads in West Jutland are dead straight; after 10km, you come to a five degree kink, and there is a small village or town on the bend, often with an odd name. Tarm, Vemb, Tim, Borris. As you approach the North Sea, the trees forming the hedgerows bend in unison, victims of the westerly winds that blow pretty much all the year round. All in all, I find it pretty desolate, at least until you get to the coast.
It would also explain the area's reputation for having a particularly intense form of religious puritanism. The film Babette's Feast was set in West Jutland, with Karen Blixen poking gentle fun at the hypocrisy of the overly religious.
Today the region is hugely dependent on tourists, particularly Germans. The long, sandy beaches, with high dunes whipped up by the winds, attract windsurfers, families with children, cyclists and seabathers. They are housed in the modern-day version of fishermen's cottages, well-built and -furnished to (high) Danish standards. The house we stayed at had 18 beds (the spillover slept in a tent), an indoor swimming pool, sauna, and two jacuzzis, one outdoors.
The outlying parts of Denmark are finding it hard to keep their populations. Fishing, the mainstay of the coast in former times, has been in difficulties for years. Young people want to move to the cities, notably Copenhagen and Aarhus, in search of more excitement. And it is already difficult to attact (for instance) general practitioners to look after the health needs of the rapidly ageing people who remain. Without those German euros pouring into summer houses, those problems would be greater still.
Walter Blotscher
I have spent the last couple of days at my wife's family's annual gathering (again no internet connection, hence no blog). Everybody was there this year, all 23 of us, accomodated in a large summer house in West Jutland.
Jutland is the part of Denmark that sticks up from Germany. Traditionally, it is the poor part of the country. The land is flat, particularly on the western side, and the soil is sandy, which makes agriculture difficult. In olden times it was mainly heath and pine forests. Standing on the current border between Germany and Denmark and looking at the pancake-flat, dyke-ridden landscape, it is hard to see why the Schleswig-Holstein question exercised so many minds for so long. To be blunt, who would want it?
Danish ingenuity has since solved the agricultural problem, so nowadays there are large fields of wheat and maize, herds of dairy cattle, and many of the country's large pig farms (see Gylle, 1/5/10). But ingenuity can't make the landscape any hillier. The roads in West Jutland are dead straight; after 10km, you come to a five degree kink, and there is a small village or town on the bend, often with an odd name. Tarm, Vemb, Tim, Borris. As you approach the North Sea, the trees forming the hedgerows bend in unison, victims of the westerly winds that blow pretty much all the year round. All in all, I find it pretty desolate, at least until you get to the coast.
It would also explain the area's reputation for having a particularly intense form of religious puritanism. The film Babette's Feast was set in West Jutland, with Karen Blixen poking gentle fun at the hypocrisy of the overly religious.
Today the region is hugely dependent on tourists, particularly Germans. The long, sandy beaches, with high dunes whipped up by the winds, attract windsurfers, families with children, cyclists and seabathers. They are housed in the modern-day version of fishermen's cottages, well-built and -furnished to (high) Danish standards. The house we stayed at had 18 beds (the spillover slept in a tent), an indoor swimming pool, sauna, and two jacuzzis, one outdoors.
The outlying parts of Denmark are finding it hard to keep their populations. Fishing, the mainstay of the coast in former times, has been in difficulties for years. Young people want to move to the cities, notably Copenhagen and Aarhus, in search of more excitement. And it is already difficult to attact (for instance) general practitioners to look after the health needs of the rapidly ageing people who remain. Without those German euros pouring into summer houses, those problems would be greater still.
Walter Blotscher
TOUR DE FRANCE (2)
In my blog on the Giro d'Italia (30/5/10), I said that this year's Tour would be a straight fight between Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador, with Contador winning. And so it proved, the Spaniard winning the 3-week epic by just 39 seconds.
Supporters of the personable Saxo Bank rider will point out that those 39 seconds are exactly what Schleck lost on the 15th stage in the Pyrenees to Bagneres-de-Luchon. Wearing the yellow jersey at the time by 31 seconds, Schleck attacked on the last climb before the downhill finish, and seemingly got a gap. But then at the critical moment, his chain jumped, forcing him to stop and put it back on. Contador, Samuel Sanchez and Denis Menchov all attacked, and had 15 seconds on Schleck by the summit, a gap which they increased on the fast descent to the finish.
There was a lot of discussion afterwards about whether it was "fair" for Contador to attack when the yellow jersey was vulnerable in this way. Personally, I think it was OK; punctures, crashes and mechanical failures are all part of the sport, and one of the reasons for its unpredictability and excitement. Besides, Schleck had not stopped for Contador when the latter was hampered by a crash in front of him on the cobblestone stage in the first week.
No, the real reasons Schleck lost were twofold. First, his elder brother Frank crashed out on the paves and broke his collarbone. With both Schlecks in the race, and the elder in the form of his life, they could have taken turns to attack Contador in the mountains and run his team ragged, in the same way that Carlos Sastre and Frank Schleck softened up Cadel Evans in 2008 (Sastre taking the victory). Secondly, Andy Schleck lost 42 seconds to Contador in just 9km in the wet prologue in Rotterdam (which means that the other 3,000 + kilometers were pretty much a dead heat). More than anything, that shows just how important it is in a stage race to race every single stage.
Contador has now won the last five 3-week Grand Tours he has entered; three Tours de France, one Giro d'Italia and one Vuelta d'Espana. That's a terrific achievement. He is talking about not doing the Tour next year, but going for the Giro/Vuelta double, as he did in 2008. If so, that will leave the field clear for Andy Schleck, as it did for Sastre. Otherwise, the Contador/Schleck rivalry will liven up cycling's premier event for years to come.
Walter Blotscher
In my blog on the Giro d'Italia (30/5/10), I said that this year's Tour would be a straight fight between Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador, with Contador winning. And so it proved, the Spaniard winning the 3-week epic by just 39 seconds.
Supporters of the personable Saxo Bank rider will point out that those 39 seconds are exactly what Schleck lost on the 15th stage in the Pyrenees to Bagneres-de-Luchon. Wearing the yellow jersey at the time by 31 seconds, Schleck attacked on the last climb before the downhill finish, and seemingly got a gap. But then at the critical moment, his chain jumped, forcing him to stop and put it back on. Contador, Samuel Sanchez and Denis Menchov all attacked, and had 15 seconds on Schleck by the summit, a gap which they increased on the fast descent to the finish.
There was a lot of discussion afterwards about whether it was "fair" for Contador to attack when the yellow jersey was vulnerable in this way. Personally, I think it was OK; punctures, crashes and mechanical failures are all part of the sport, and one of the reasons for its unpredictability and excitement. Besides, Schleck had not stopped for Contador when the latter was hampered by a crash in front of him on the cobblestone stage in the first week.
No, the real reasons Schleck lost were twofold. First, his elder brother Frank crashed out on the paves and broke his collarbone. With both Schlecks in the race, and the elder in the form of his life, they could have taken turns to attack Contador in the mountains and run his team ragged, in the same way that Carlos Sastre and Frank Schleck softened up Cadel Evans in 2008 (Sastre taking the victory). Secondly, Andy Schleck lost 42 seconds to Contador in just 9km in the wet prologue in Rotterdam (which means that the other 3,000 + kilometers were pretty much a dead heat). More than anything, that shows just how important it is in a stage race to race every single stage.
Contador has now won the last five 3-week Grand Tours he has entered; three Tours de France, one Giro d'Italia and one Vuelta d'Espana. That's a terrific achievement. He is talking about not doing the Tour next year, but going for the Giro/Vuelta double, as he did in 2008. If so, that will leave the field clear for Andy Schleck, as it did for Sastre. Otherwise, the Contador/Schleck rivalry will liven up cycling's premier event for years to come.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 19 July 2010
TOWEL RACKS
99,9% of all towels are rectangular. As are 99,9% of all towel racks. Indeed, most of them have bars built into them at intervals, so that the rectangular towels fit easily into the rectangular rack.
Why is it, then, that 100% of the rest of my family don't seem able to fit the towels in the towel rack? Virtually every day I find myself taking one or more "stuffed" towels out of the towel rack in the bathroom, folding them, and putting them neatly back again.
Most days I don't seem to mind, and do it almost absent-mindedly. But for some reason this morning it got to me. Hence this rant.
Walter Blotscher
99,9% of all towels are rectangular. As are 99,9% of all towel racks. Indeed, most of them have bars built into them at intervals, so that the rectangular towels fit easily into the rectangular rack.
Why is it, then, that 100% of the rest of my family don't seem able to fit the towels in the towel rack? Virtually every day I find myself taking one or more "stuffed" towels out of the towel rack in the bathroom, folding them, and putting them neatly back again.
Most days I don't seem to mind, and do it almost absent-mindedly. But for some reason this morning it got to me. Hence this rant.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 18 July 2010
DEPONENT VERBS
When I did Latin O level, I learned about deponent verbs. These have a passive form (as in "I am eaten"), but an active meaning (I eat).
A classical curiosity? Well, not quite. Rather oddly, Danish has a fair number of them, and in common use. The Danish verbs for think, meet, long for, fight, share, succeed, and even speak (as in "we'll speak later") are all in the passive form. It's odd, and not just because I have difficulty with the concept of passive thinking. The roots of Danish grammar are Germanic rather than Latinate, and I can't think (passively) of any deponent verbs in German.
All of which supports my theory that every language is hard, but each in its own peculiar way. Latin nouns had six cases, but that's nothing compared with Finnish's fifteen (English has next to none). Swahili has no irregular verbs, but it has hardly any prepositions, retains a subjunctive, and has six different noun classes that inflect in the plural at the beginning of the word rather than the end. I can't imagine how a foreigner gets to grips with character and tonal languages like Chinese. A hobby for my old age, perhaps.
Walter Blotscher
When I did Latin O level, I learned about deponent verbs. These have a passive form (as in "I am eaten"), but an active meaning (I eat).
A classical curiosity? Well, not quite. Rather oddly, Danish has a fair number of them, and in common use. The Danish verbs for think, meet, long for, fight, share, succeed, and even speak (as in "we'll speak later") are all in the passive form. It's odd, and not just because I have difficulty with the concept of passive thinking. The roots of Danish grammar are Germanic rather than Latinate, and I can't think (passively) of any deponent verbs in German.
All of which supports my theory that every language is hard, but each in its own peculiar way. Latin nouns had six cases, but that's nothing compared with Finnish's fifteen (English has next to none). Swahili has no irregular verbs, but it has hardly any prepositions, retains a subjunctive, and has six different noun classes that inflect in the plural at the beginning of the word rather than the end. I can't imagine how a foreigner gets to grips with character and tonal languages like Chinese. A hobby for my old age, perhaps.
Walter Blotscher
JAMES ELLROY
While in Spain, I re-read James Ellroy's Underworld USA trilogy, all 1,900 pages of it.
Ellroy wrote the novels that form the basis for the film L.A.Confidential, which takes place in Los Angeles during the 1950's. The Underworld USA trilogy looks at the links between politics, organised crime, law enforcement and business on the national stage; American Tabloid from late 1958 to the assassination of President Kennedy in November 1963, The Cold Six Thousand from then until the assassination of Bobby Kennedy in June 1968, and Blood's A Rover from then until late 1972. Fictional characters are woven into the lives of real people and real events. The Kennedy's, Howard Hughes, Sam Giancana and other Mafia figures, Martin Luther King, Jack Ruby, J.Edgar Hoover, Richard Nixon. The assassinations, Vietnam, the Watts Riots, the 1968 Democratic Convention. There's lots of violence, often drug-fuelled. Cops and lawyers work for both the FBI and the mob. Everybody seems, at heart, totally amoral, available for a price and prepared to rat on everybody else.
Underlying it all, apart from the links above, are two constant themes; the U.S.' racial divide and the loss of Cuba to communism (Kennedy is shot by the mob, because he doesn't do anything after the Bay of Pigs debacle to get the mob's Cuban casinos back). Those themes still exist in the country today.
I don't know whether all of it is true. But it is brilliantly written, in terse staccato prose, and is eminently plausible. Highly recommended.
Walter Blotscher
While in Spain, I re-read James Ellroy's Underworld USA trilogy, all 1,900 pages of it.
Ellroy wrote the novels that form the basis for the film L.A.Confidential, which takes place in Los Angeles during the 1950's. The Underworld USA trilogy looks at the links between politics, organised crime, law enforcement and business on the national stage; American Tabloid from late 1958 to the assassination of President Kennedy in November 1963, The Cold Six Thousand from then until the assassination of Bobby Kennedy in June 1968, and Blood's A Rover from then until late 1972. Fictional characters are woven into the lives of real people and real events. The Kennedy's, Howard Hughes, Sam Giancana and other Mafia figures, Martin Luther King, Jack Ruby, J.Edgar Hoover, Richard Nixon. The assassinations, Vietnam, the Watts Riots, the 1968 Democratic Convention. There's lots of violence, often drug-fuelled. Cops and lawyers work for both the FBI and the mob. Everybody seems, at heart, totally amoral, available for a price and prepared to rat on everybody else.
Underlying it all, apart from the links above, are two constant themes; the U.S.' racial divide and the loss of Cuba to communism (Kennedy is shot by the mob, because he doesn't do anything after the Bay of Pigs debacle to get the mob's Cuban casinos back). Those themes still exist in the country today.
I don't know whether all of it is true. But it is brilliantly written, in terse staccato prose, and is eminently plausible. Highly recommended.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday 17 July 2010
THE WORLD CUP (2)
It's good to know that my sporting predictions sometimes hold. In my earlier piece on the World Cup (11/6/10), I tipped Holland and Spain, with the latter to win. Not a bad punt all round.
Even though Spain won a number of their games by only 1-0, including both the semi-final and final, they were technically the best side in the tournament, and dominated their matches against both Germany and Holland. Any team that can afford to keep Torres, Fabregas and David Silva on the bench must be pretty good; and they duly delivered. After being the perennial international football underachievers, Spain are now both World and European champions.
We watched both the semi-final and final in a small bar in the village down from the house we were staying at in Spain. On a warm evening, fortified by cold Estrellas beer and the local red plonk, it was easy to get caught up in it. Not surprisingly, the locals went nuts at the end.
So, that's it for four more years, until Rio in 2014. Yet again, pressure will build for Ingerland to do well; yet again, I doubt that they will. After all, Torres & Co will still be around.
Walter Blotscher
It's good to know that my sporting predictions sometimes hold. In my earlier piece on the World Cup (11/6/10), I tipped Holland and Spain, with the latter to win. Not a bad punt all round.
Even though Spain won a number of their games by only 1-0, including both the semi-final and final, they were technically the best side in the tournament, and dominated their matches against both Germany and Holland. Any team that can afford to keep Torres, Fabregas and David Silva on the bench must be pretty good; and they duly delivered. After being the perennial international football underachievers, Spain are now both World and European champions.
We watched both the semi-final and final in a small bar in the village down from the house we were staying at in Spain. On a warm evening, fortified by cold Estrellas beer and the local red plonk, it was easy to get caught up in it. Not surprisingly, the locals went nuts at the end.
So, that's it for four more years, until Rio in 2014. Yet again, pressure will build for Ingerland to do well; yet again, I doubt that they will. After all, Torres & Co will still be around.
Walter Blotscher
SPAIN
I have just come back from a 9-day holiday in Spain. The traditional holiday view of the country is either big city break (Barcelona/Madrid) or sand, sea and sun (Costa Brava, Costa del Sol etc). But we were in a house up in the mountains north east of Malaga, about halfway between Motril and Granada.
The southern part of Andalucia is rugged indeed. The coastal strip is very thin, and the mountains - which, in the Sierra Nevada a bit further east, are quite high, 3,000 metres plus - almost fall into the sea. Small rivers have over time cut huge valleys in the limestone rock, so the villages have to cling to the steep hillsides. It's very, very dry, perhaps the driest place I have ever been, and hot, so it's amazing that anything can grow in the dusty, stony soil. One of the things that can is the olive tree; they are everywhere.
Our house was up a steep valley that had three villages in it; bottom, middle and top. The road got progressively twistier and narrower as you went up; after "top" it turned into a gravity defying dirt road through a forest reserve until it reached the house 4km away. An offtake from the local stream for water, solar power for the electricity, olive and fruit trees fed by drip irrigation, a swimming pool with a 30 kilometer view down the valley. And tranquility, the silence broken only by the sound of a noisy cicada. I loved it.
We had one day down on the coast, a day trip to Granada, and one day in the Alpujarra (the slopes of the Sierra Nevada). Otherwise, it was walking in the forest reserve, cooling off in the pool, and reading a lot of books. Driving down to the village to get supplies was a major endeavour. All in all, I haven't been so lazy for decades.
Andalucia is the poorest part of Spain, but it didn't seem to be doing too badly. True, there are only 16 trains a day out of Granada, a city of almost 250,000 people. But the rural roads look in good shape, and there are lots of blue EU signs around, highlighting money from the regional fund (including the reforestation programme going on above our house). The new motorways from Motril up to Granada, and west from Motril to Malaga, are spectacular, with tunnels through the rock and viaducts across the valleys.
All in all, I was favourably impressed. My only regret is that after a lifetime of dithering and dathering, I took the opportunity to definitively decide whether I like olives or not. The answer is; chopped and on a pizza, OK, whole and on their own, no. A pity, since there were an awful lot of them around to be eaten.
Walter Blotscher
I have just come back from a 9-day holiday in Spain. The traditional holiday view of the country is either big city break (Barcelona/Madrid) or sand, sea and sun (Costa Brava, Costa del Sol etc). But we were in a house up in the mountains north east of Malaga, about halfway between Motril and Granada.
The southern part of Andalucia is rugged indeed. The coastal strip is very thin, and the mountains - which, in the Sierra Nevada a bit further east, are quite high, 3,000 metres plus - almost fall into the sea. Small rivers have over time cut huge valleys in the limestone rock, so the villages have to cling to the steep hillsides. It's very, very dry, perhaps the driest place I have ever been, and hot, so it's amazing that anything can grow in the dusty, stony soil. One of the things that can is the olive tree; they are everywhere.
Our house was up a steep valley that had three villages in it; bottom, middle and top. The road got progressively twistier and narrower as you went up; after "top" it turned into a gravity defying dirt road through a forest reserve until it reached the house 4km away. An offtake from the local stream for water, solar power for the electricity, olive and fruit trees fed by drip irrigation, a swimming pool with a 30 kilometer view down the valley. And tranquility, the silence broken only by the sound of a noisy cicada. I loved it.
We had one day down on the coast, a day trip to Granada, and one day in the Alpujarra (the slopes of the Sierra Nevada). Otherwise, it was walking in the forest reserve, cooling off in the pool, and reading a lot of books. Driving down to the village to get supplies was a major endeavour. All in all, I haven't been so lazy for decades.
Andalucia is the poorest part of Spain, but it didn't seem to be doing too badly. True, there are only 16 trains a day out of Granada, a city of almost 250,000 people. But the rural roads look in good shape, and there are lots of blue EU signs around, highlighting money from the regional fund (including the reforestation programme going on above our house). The new motorways from Motril up to Granada, and west from Motril to Malaga, are spectacular, with tunnels through the rock and viaducts across the valleys.
All in all, I was favourably impressed. My only regret is that after a lifetime of dithering and dathering, I took the opportunity to definitively decide whether I like olives or not. The answer is; chopped and on a pizza, OK, whole and on their own, no. A pity, since there were an awful lot of them around to be eaten.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 16 July 2010
TOUR DE FRANCE
I said in my blog on the Paris-Roubaix classic (11/4/10) that this year's third stage of the Tour de France on 6 July would be one to watch, since many of the favourites would be unfamiliar with the brutal cobblestones they would have to negotiate in the closing stages of a long day in the saddle.
That prediction turned out to be correct. For Frank Schleck, one of Saxo Bank's two captains and winner of the 10-day warm-up Tour de Suisse, the stage was terminal, since he crashed on the key pave section and broke his collarbone in three places. It was also a setback for Lance Armstrong, who punctured on the same section, possibly the first piece of really bad luck that the 39-year old has ever had at the Tour. On the other hand, pre-race favourite Alberto Contador came out of it quite well, coming home in the second group, despite being a small climber and breaking a spoke on his front wheel.
However, the real winner was Frank Schleck's younger brother and co-captain Andy. After a disappointing opening time trial in Rotterdam, where he lost nearly a minute in just under 9km, Saxo Bank's tactical plan for the first week had to work to perfection. It did. Fabian Cancellara took the yellow jersey on the opening day by blasting the prologue in 10 minutes flat. Then this year's dominant cobblestone rider led his teammate at full gas onto the pave sections, Schleck's job being to hang onto his wheel and hope for the best. By the end of the day, Schleck was ahead of all his main rivals with the exception of world champion Cadel Evans. But when Evans spectacularly cracked on the Col de la Madeleine on the second Alpine stage while wearing the yellow jersey, Andy Schleck took over.
The key battle is now between Schleck and Contador, currently 31 seconds behind. They have each beaten the other by ten seconds on uphill stages, so it will all come down to four mountain stages in the Pyrenees this weekend and early next week. Contador is undoubtedly the better time-trialler, so Schleck will need to be further ahead, at least a minute more and probably two, before the 52km time trial on the penultimate stage next Saturday. So those mountain stages could be fireworks.
We also shouldn't rule out good time triallers like Denis Menchov, despite his already being nearly three minutes down (others are further back). This year's Tour has been held under incredibly hot weather, which is brutally debilitating over the course of three weeks; and it only takes one bad day to ruin a rider's chances. Evans lost 8 minutes on stage 9; and Armstrong was forced to concede an eye-popping 12 minutes on the previous stage to Morzine-Avoriaz. The Tour is not over by any means.
Walter Blotscher
I said in my blog on the Paris-Roubaix classic (11/4/10) that this year's third stage of the Tour de France on 6 July would be one to watch, since many of the favourites would be unfamiliar with the brutal cobblestones they would have to negotiate in the closing stages of a long day in the saddle.
That prediction turned out to be correct. For Frank Schleck, one of Saxo Bank's two captains and winner of the 10-day warm-up Tour de Suisse, the stage was terminal, since he crashed on the key pave section and broke his collarbone in three places. It was also a setback for Lance Armstrong, who punctured on the same section, possibly the first piece of really bad luck that the 39-year old has ever had at the Tour. On the other hand, pre-race favourite Alberto Contador came out of it quite well, coming home in the second group, despite being a small climber and breaking a spoke on his front wheel.
However, the real winner was Frank Schleck's younger brother and co-captain Andy. After a disappointing opening time trial in Rotterdam, where he lost nearly a minute in just under 9km, Saxo Bank's tactical plan for the first week had to work to perfection. It did. Fabian Cancellara took the yellow jersey on the opening day by blasting the prologue in 10 minutes flat. Then this year's dominant cobblestone rider led his teammate at full gas onto the pave sections, Schleck's job being to hang onto his wheel and hope for the best. By the end of the day, Schleck was ahead of all his main rivals with the exception of world champion Cadel Evans. But when Evans spectacularly cracked on the Col de la Madeleine on the second Alpine stage while wearing the yellow jersey, Andy Schleck took over.
The key battle is now between Schleck and Contador, currently 31 seconds behind. They have each beaten the other by ten seconds on uphill stages, so it will all come down to four mountain stages in the Pyrenees this weekend and early next week. Contador is undoubtedly the better time-trialler, so Schleck will need to be further ahead, at least a minute more and probably two, before the 52km time trial on the penultimate stage next Saturday. So those mountain stages could be fireworks.
We also shouldn't rule out good time triallers like Denis Menchov, despite his already being nearly three minutes down (others are further back). This year's Tour has been held under incredibly hot weather, which is brutally debilitating over the course of three weeks; and it only takes one bad day to ruin a rider's chances. Evans lost 8 minutes on stage 9; and Armstrong was forced to concede an eye-popping 12 minutes on the previous stage to Morzine-Avoriaz. The Tour is not over by any means.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 5 July 2010
MY BIRTHDAY
It's my birthday today, so happy birthday, me.
I got a complete toolbox from my children (and we are talking complete here), so it looks like the Smug Builder project will be expanding, come the autumn. Clothes, tickets to the opera and an invitation to a date from my wife. And an ingenious tool from my mother-in-law and the rest of her family that allows you to pull dandelions and their roots out of a lawn (more detail on that another time, but I am salivating already). Plus plenty of sunshine and an exciting stage of the Tour de France. So a good day all round.
We are off to Spain tomorrow for a family holiday. Away from the tourists and away from the internet. So there's a pause in the blogging for a while. Back on the 15th with lots of impressions from Espana. I am looking forward to watching Spain v. Germany in a Spanish bar on Wednesday.
Walter Blotscher
It's my birthday today, so happy birthday, me.
I got a complete toolbox from my children (and we are talking complete here), so it looks like the Smug Builder project will be expanding, come the autumn. Clothes, tickets to the opera and an invitation to a date from my wife. And an ingenious tool from my mother-in-law and the rest of her family that allows you to pull dandelions and their roots out of a lawn (more detail on that another time, but I am salivating already). Plus plenty of sunshine and an exciting stage of the Tour de France. So a good day all round.
We are off to Spain tomorrow for a family holiday. Away from the tourists and away from the internet. So there's a pause in the blogging for a while. Back on the 15th with lots of impressions from Espana. I am looking forward to watching Spain v. Germany in a Spanish bar on Wednesday.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 4 July 2010
PENSIONS (2)
In my blog on pensions (16/6/10) I said that I thought that France's decision to raise its retirement age from 60 to 62 was too little, too late.
It seems that the Greek Government agrees with me. If a bill is approved by Parliament later this month, then the retirement age for all public sector workers, both men and women, will rise to 65 from 2013. That is an increase of 8 years for men and a whopping 13 years for women.
Greece is, admittedly, a special (basket) case. But it gives a very clear demonstration of what needs to be done. The entitlements of the about-to-retire generation are unaffordable in many European countries. Greece will not be the last country to cut them.
Walter Blotscher
In my blog on pensions (16/6/10) I said that I thought that France's decision to raise its retirement age from 60 to 62 was too little, too late.
It seems that the Greek Government agrees with me. If a bill is approved by Parliament later this month, then the retirement age for all public sector workers, both men and women, will rise to 65 from 2013. That is an increase of 8 years for men and a whopping 13 years for women.
Greece is, admittedly, a special (basket) case. But it gives a very clear demonstration of what needs to be done. The entitlements of the about-to-retire generation are unaffordable in many European countries. Greece will not be the last country to cut them.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 2 July 2010
CORPORATE TAXES
The Australian Government has come to an agreement with the mining companies on the scale of its proposed "super profits" tax. Controversy about the tax was one of the main reasons why the Labour Party dumped its leader Kevin Rudd and replaced him with his deputy, Julia Gillard, who thereby became the country's first woman Prime Minister. So the deal marks a good start to her tenure.
Lost in all of the arguments about rates is a more fundamental point; namely why does the world bother to tax companies' profits at all?
Companies are, in essence, black boxes; money comes in (in the form of sales revenue, new borrowing, equity subscriptions and sales of assets) and money goes out (in the form of wages and salaries, taxes, purchases, interest, dividends, investments and debt repayments). According to the Nobel-prize winning economist Ronald Coase, the main reason they exist is to minimise the transaction costs of these operations. You can, after all, do all of the above things without having to form a company; though it might drown you in administration.
But the other point about all of the above things is that they are already taxed. Wages and salaries (returns to labour) are taxed in the hands of recipients; so too are interest and dividends (returns to capital). If corporate profits were not taxed, then they would just sit there in the company until they were paid out at some later stage in one of the above forms. Why not, therefore, just wait until that later date? At a stroke, you would get rid of what all accountants know is one of the most complex parts of any tax system. Not least because the concept of "profit" is elusive, to say the least, particularly when companies have operations in more than one country. Governments would of course get less tax from companies themselves; but they would get more from the other sources as and when the (now higher) profits were paid out in some form.
One argument for the Australian super-profits tax is that it will be levied on minerals, which can only be used once. But there already exists a system for dealing with that, namely licences and royalties. It works in much the same way as a patent.
There is one downside with the concept of not taxing companies. For it to work, everybody would have to do it, otherwise one country would be undercutting every other. I think that this effect might well be exaggerated, since companies decamping wholesale to another country would face a lot of upheaval (those transaction costs again). Furthermore, to the extent that it is true, then it would give any non-cutting country a big incentive to match the reduction, thereby cancelling out that effect. However, we shall probably never know what would happen if the idea were implemented, since I put the likelihood of countries abolishing corporate profits taxes at about zero. Governments are too wedded to the revenues to dare to change the system. Even if I suggest it.
Walter Blotscher
The Australian Government has come to an agreement with the mining companies on the scale of its proposed "super profits" tax. Controversy about the tax was one of the main reasons why the Labour Party dumped its leader Kevin Rudd and replaced him with his deputy, Julia Gillard, who thereby became the country's first woman Prime Minister. So the deal marks a good start to her tenure.
Lost in all of the arguments about rates is a more fundamental point; namely why does the world bother to tax companies' profits at all?
Companies are, in essence, black boxes; money comes in (in the form of sales revenue, new borrowing, equity subscriptions and sales of assets) and money goes out (in the form of wages and salaries, taxes, purchases, interest, dividends, investments and debt repayments). According to the Nobel-prize winning economist Ronald Coase, the main reason they exist is to minimise the transaction costs of these operations. You can, after all, do all of the above things without having to form a company; though it might drown you in administration.
But the other point about all of the above things is that they are already taxed. Wages and salaries (returns to labour) are taxed in the hands of recipients; so too are interest and dividends (returns to capital). If corporate profits were not taxed, then they would just sit there in the company until they were paid out at some later stage in one of the above forms. Why not, therefore, just wait until that later date? At a stroke, you would get rid of what all accountants know is one of the most complex parts of any tax system. Not least because the concept of "profit" is elusive, to say the least, particularly when companies have operations in more than one country. Governments would of course get less tax from companies themselves; but they would get more from the other sources as and when the (now higher) profits were paid out in some form.
One argument for the Australian super-profits tax is that it will be levied on minerals, which can only be used once. But there already exists a system for dealing with that, namely licences and royalties. It works in much the same way as a patent.
There is one downside with the concept of not taxing companies. For it to work, everybody would have to do it, otherwise one country would be undercutting every other. I think that this effect might well be exaggerated, since companies decamping wholesale to another country would face a lot of upheaval (those transaction costs again). Furthermore, to the extent that it is true, then it would give any non-cutting country a big incentive to match the reduction, thereby cancelling out that effect. However, we shall probably never know what would happen if the idea were implemented, since I put the likelihood of countries abolishing corporate profits taxes at about zero. Governments are too wedded to the revenues to dare to change the system. Even if I suggest it.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 1 July 2010
MOLE WARFARE
I have a love-hate relationship with moles. On the one hand, their monomaniacal tunnelling in search of worms makes them natural aerators of the soil (good). On the other, a reasonably active mole can destroy a well-manicured lawn in the course of one evening (bad).
On balance, the bad outweighs the good, so out they must go. People have a number of ruses for getting rid of them, ranging from putting bacon down the tunnel, to gas, to tin cans with holes in them on poles (they apparently don't like the whistling of the wind). My badminton partner poured petrol down one hole, and let the vapours expand throughout the network under his lawn, before lighting it. But that was not very effective, since moles range quite a long way from their home base, and his mole was probably sitting in the flower bed, laughing his head off. Besides, who wants to have a summer picnic in a garden that looks like the Kuwaiti oil fields post the Iraq invasion?
No, the only sure way to get rid of the pesky critters is traps. You buy a strong-springed trap that looks a bit like a pair of scissors, open it up and put a small piece of metal between the jaws to keep them open. You then find a recently made molehill with a through tunnel, not an end tunnel (think Oxford Circus rather than Cockfosters), dig out the soil, place the trap lengthwise in the hole, and cover it with a bucket to shut out the light. When Mr. Moley comes moseying along the tunnel later that night, he investigates with his snout. That knocks out the bit of metal, and the trap snaps shut, breaking his back instantly. Very effective.
Having decided on your choice of weapon, you now need a plan. When we moved into this house in 2002, a mole terrorised the front lawn, since his base was directly under the house itself. It took me the whole winter to get rid of the wretched thing. But having secured my home defences, I was able to go onto the offensive, gradually clearing the back lawn, the paddock and the area between the house and the wood. The moles are now confined to the wood itself and the area under the fruit trees.
If this all sounds very military, then that is because it is; indeed, it reminds me very much of the First World War. Neither of us can win a decisive victory. Instead, there are titanic struggles for tiny pieces of ground, fought at insanely high cost in terms of lives (well, at least for the Mole Army). There are night attacks, bomb craters, flooded trenches, churned over ground. There is even a salient (see Ypres, 14/3/10), namely the compost heap that sticks out from the fruit trees towards the back lawn. As at Ypres, this has seen some of the fiercest fighting, since the moles apparently like to breed underneath it. I am tempted to adopt General Plumer's plan for straightening the salient, which involved blowing up the Messines Ridge; substitute "compost heap" for "ridge" and "carting off to the dump" for "blowing up". That would have the added advantage of sucking in any baby mole reserves, and allowing a big push towards the sea. But I have to sort out the logistics before I try such an offensive (i.e. borrow a trailer).
Perhaps because of the snow and the heavy rain, this year's campaigning season has been relatively short; all quiet on the south eastern front. In a surprise ambush in April, I caught a mole coming up through the paddock into the salient. 1-0 to me. Then nothing. Until last week. From his command post under the compost heap, the new commander launched a series of raids in all directions. Turning up my buckets in the morning, I would find the traps sprung and the bucket completely stuffed with soil, but no dead mole; a sort of "fuck you" message. This was beginning to get on my nerves; the orchard was looking more and more like the Somme. So I had a tactical re-think. I gave up some ground near the compost heap, swept round to his rear, and laid a couple of traps in well-used tunnels leading to the wood. Echoes of Cannae, perhaps? Whatever; yesterday, I got him. A worthy adversary; but ultimately doomed.
So, I am managing to keep the moles under control. My only worry is the possible intervention of human rights activists. Because in this war, I definitely do not take prisoners.
Walter Blotscher
I have a love-hate relationship with moles. On the one hand, their monomaniacal tunnelling in search of worms makes them natural aerators of the soil (good). On the other, a reasonably active mole can destroy a well-manicured lawn in the course of one evening (bad).
On balance, the bad outweighs the good, so out they must go. People have a number of ruses for getting rid of them, ranging from putting bacon down the tunnel, to gas, to tin cans with holes in them on poles (they apparently don't like the whistling of the wind). My badminton partner poured petrol down one hole, and let the vapours expand throughout the network under his lawn, before lighting it. But that was not very effective, since moles range quite a long way from their home base, and his mole was probably sitting in the flower bed, laughing his head off. Besides, who wants to have a summer picnic in a garden that looks like the Kuwaiti oil fields post the Iraq invasion?
No, the only sure way to get rid of the pesky critters is traps. You buy a strong-springed trap that looks a bit like a pair of scissors, open it up and put a small piece of metal between the jaws to keep them open. You then find a recently made molehill with a through tunnel, not an end tunnel (think Oxford Circus rather than Cockfosters), dig out the soil, place the trap lengthwise in the hole, and cover it with a bucket to shut out the light. When Mr. Moley comes moseying along the tunnel later that night, he investigates with his snout. That knocks out the bit of metal, and the trap snaps shut, breaking his back instantly. Very effective.
Having decided on your choice of weapon, you now need a plan. When we moved into this house in 2002, a mole terrorised the front lawn, since his base was directly under the house itself. It took me the whole winter to get rid of the wretched thing. But having secured my home defences, I was able to go onto the offensive, gradually clearing the back lawn, the paddock and the area between the house and the wood. The moles are now confined to the wood itself and the area under the fruit trees.
If this all sounds very military, then that is because it is; indeed, it reminds me very much of the First World War. Neither of us can win a decisive victory. Instead, there are titanic struggles for tiny pieces of ground, fought at insanely high cost in terms of lives (well, at least for the Mole Army). There are night attacks, bomb craters, flooded trenches, churned over ground. There is even a salient (see Ypres, 14/3/10), namely the compost heap that sticks out from the fruit trees towards the back lawn. As at Ypres, this has seen some of the fiercest fighting, since the moles apparently like to breed underneath it. I am tempted to adopt General Plumer's plan for straightening the salient, which involved blowing up the Messines Ridge; substitute "compost heap" for "ridge" and "carting off to the dump" for "blowing up". That would have the added advantage of sucking in any baby mole reserves, and allowing a big push towards the sea. But I have to sort out the logistics before I try such an offensive (i.e. borrow a trailer).
Perhaps because of the snow and the heavy rain, this year's campaigning season has been relatively short; all quiet on the south eastern front. In a surprise ambush in April, I caught a mole coming up through the paddock into the salient. 1-0 to me. Then nothing. Until last week. From his command post under the compost heap, the new commander launched a series of raids in all directions. Turning up my buckets in the morning, I would find the traps sprung and the bucket completely stuffed with soil, but no dead mole; a sort of "fuck you" message. This was beginning to get on my nerves; the orchard was looking more and more like the Somme. So I had a tactical re-think. I gave up some ground near the compost heap, swept round to his rear, and laid a couple of traps in well-used tunnels leading to the wood. Echoes of Cannae, perhaps? Whatever; yesterday, I got him. A worthy adversary; but ultimately doomed.
So, I am managing to keep the moles under control. My only worry is the possible intervention of human rights activists. Because in this war, I definitely do not take prisoners.
Walter Blotscher
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